


Gotham's Gold

by TheOrangeGecko



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe, DC Extended Universe, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batgirl - Freeform, Batman - Freeform, DC comics - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, Gotham City - Freeform, Gotham City Sirens, M/M, OC Story, Orphan - Freeform, Other, superhero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOrangeGecko/pseuds/TheOrangeGecko
Summary: After the night her parents were murdered, Bailey Moreno-Walsh wanted nothing but two things; revenge, and to keep her baby brother safeAfter spending months under the care of the Gotham City Sirens, Bailey's wish consumed her.However, the dream of training for revenge fell apart when Batgirl discovered her and tore her away from the women who had saved her, and was handed off to Bruce Wayne, who seemed to have a penchant for adopting every orphan Gotham had to offer.Still, Bailey wanted to work until every single person involved with her parent's murder was wiped off the face of the earth, which proved difficult when she discovered that the man who adopted her was Batman.Instead of condemning her for training herself to kill, Batman trained her to save. For years she learned that revenge healed nothing. And she believed it.But when the man who killed her parents is again in Gotham, Bailey finds her hunger for vengeance resurfacing. Now she won't rest until she gets her revenge. Even if that means hiring a snarky teen villain to help her execute her vengeance. Even if it means innocent lives are at stake.But is payback worth tearing her whole life apart?





	Gotham's Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Julia who taught me all about Damian Wayne](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Julia+who+taught+me+all+about+Damian+Wayne).



> This story is honestly just because I adore DC, superheroes and all things Batman, and I wanted to try something new with my writing. It's a mix and mash of canon storylines. I tried to pick a lane, but I might veer off, sorry! All the Batfamily will be featured at some point. From Dick to Stephanie , Damian to Duke, they're all gonna be there. And in all honesty, it's going to be my pride and joy. (If I don't fuck it up with my ADHD.)

_"It's when you're acting selflessly_

_that you are at your bravest."_

_\- Veronica Roth_

______________________________________

 

The slapping of feet on pavement was interrupted only by the wails of a small child and the sound of rapid breathing. Far off in the distance, sirens wailed and police lights flashed. In the alley ways, gangsters smoked joints and muggers laid in wait.

The dank, dark streets of Gotham were no place for children this late, not when the towering skyscrapers casted shadows for villains to yank them into. Not when drug cartels prowled every corner. Not when super villains were out stealing, killing, blowing things up, and generally being naughty. But two children were out that hot June night. And they were running for their lives.

The girl was no older than nine, no taller than four feet, and usually no faster than any other nine year old. But there she was, with some odd burst of strength, sprinting through the shady downtown alleys of Gotham like mad, cradling a three year old in her tiny arms.

Tears were streaming from her wild eyes, and her lungs burned with the need for air.   
The muscles in her legs stung from over-exertion, but she would not stop, she could not stop. If she stopped, she’d surely die, and so would the boy she held in her shaking arms. She ran as fast as she could, stumbling and on the verge of hyperventilation.

She had already gotten through the glowing, flashing lights of uptown, already dodged cars and taxis and scary looking men in the shadows who grinned like the Joker. She could make it.

She could get away. She had no idea where she was running to, but her legs flew anyways. Her only thought was to get away.   
Get away, get away, get away. . .

To ‘get away’. The phrasal verb of ‘get’. Meaning : to escape. Bolt, flee, make a run for it. To decamp, skedaddle, abscond. The synonyms flooded her brain, sharpening her focus on what she was doing. She was getting away. Because if she didn’t, they’d both die.

She could go to the cops. But no. She couldn’t run all the way to the station. She’d drop dead of exhaustion before she even got half way. She could go to Batman! Batman would protect her brother!

“Batman!” She screamed. “Batman help!” The only answers were the sounds of her feet hitting the pavement, and the man’s laugh behind her.

“Batman can’t help you now, girly!” He called.

She poured on the speed. As she passed a hotdog stand, she spun, and slammed her foot into the side. The stand hurtled into the four men chasing her, and knocked them to the ground.

The girl shot around the corner and came to a screeching halt. Dead end. The opening of the alley had been blocked by a fence and towers of wooden crates. She whirled around. Maybe she could escape the way she came. But no, she could hear their pounding footsteps in the distance, see the glow of their flashlights.

With a quiet whimper, she spun back towards the crates and leapt up on top of one. She climbed, higher and higher, holding her brother with one arm as she scrambled for the top.

Just when she reached it, she heard a shout, and a deafening bang. A bullet whizzed past her head. A metallic smell filled her nostrils. Something was wet on her face. She shoved herself over the fence.

Wrapped tight around the tiny child in her arms, she hit the ground on her back, having twisted mid-air like a cat. Quick as she could, she clawed herself to her feet and took off again. The wailing of the three year old boy she hefted only pushed her to go faster, to ignore the stinging in her shoulder and cheek.

There! Up ahead! Lights and noise! People chatting, or a TV, she didn’t care. Noise meant people and people meant potential safety. She booked it down the alley, and shot through the hole in the fence, just big enough for her to scrabble through.

As she hurtled out the other side she let out a scream. A single, loud, pleading sound of distress. She remembered what her father had told her.

“If a bad man is chasing you, or is trying to grab you, you scream. Scream and don’t stop screaming until someone notices. Make as much noise as possible. Catch people’s attention. That’s how you survive in a big city like this. Kick and scream and claw at his eyes and soft spots—I taught you the soft spots, remember? 

Make sure people know you don’t want to go with this man. If he says he’s related to you, you scream that he's not. Make sure people know you don’t know him. If he grabs you, you scream ‘help’. Scream as loud as you can, sweetheart, because if you make enough of a ruckus, someone will see you. And someone will help you.”

The three women standing in the alley whirled to her. The one closest to the wall looked furious. “What do you want, kid? We don’t have time for this!”  
They did indeed look busy. Their arms were loaded with what appeared to be sacks of money. The other two women looked more surprised than outraged, but they all seemed on edge.

The girl barely even registered that she knew who they were. Barely noticed the green and red and black they wore. She didn’t care that they were villains. All she cared about is that they were people, and they could save them.

“Please, help us!” She sobbed, clutching the boy in her arms tighter as he screamed. She hurried over to them, frantic.

The woman in black stepped forward and knelt in front of her, taking her by the arms. “What’s wrong?” She asked gently, but firmly.

The girl knew about this woman. She liked cats and orphans. She hoped this woman would have a soft spot for her, considering her recent status upgrade to orphan. She set down her brother, her arms burning.

“My parents,” She gasped, her chest heaving. “The man in white! He’s coming! They’re gonna get us too!”

“What man? Who's 'they'? What did they do to your parents?” The woman in black demanded. Her eyes widened under her goggles and she lifted her gloved hand up to cup the girl’s cheek. It came away red.

“You’re bleeding!” She looked up at the redhead. “Ivy—”

“We need to escape now, Catwoman.” Ivy snarled. “Do you want to get caught by the cops? Do you want to go to Arkham?”

“Of course I don’t,” Catwoman snapped, “I’m not a masochist. But these kids need help!”

“Not our problem!” Poison Ivy turned back towards the wall and lifted her hand. Vines erupted from the pavement and lifted the money up over the side of the wall.

The girl cried out again, desperate. “Please, you have to help us!”

The blonde that she recognized as Harley Quinn spoke up, setting down her baseball bat. “Red, look, the kid’s bleedin’. She said people are comin’ ta get ‘em. We gotta help ‘em.”

Ivy glowered at her. Hesitantly, she glanced at the crying children in Catwoman’s arms. She held the girl’s stare over Selina’s shoulder, watched tears flow from her large hazel eyes.

“They’re just kids, Red.” Harley murmured. “Little kids.”

Ivy sighed. She shoved her red hair away from her face. “Alright fine, but—”

With a hideous cracking sound, the wooden fence blocking the alleyway was smashed away. Four men burst through, their leader brandishing a pistol in his meaty, gloved hand.

“There they are!”

The girl screamed at the voice, burying herself in Catwoman’s arms, holding the crying toddler tighter.

Emerging from the dust of the wood, a man came towards them. He sauntered forwards lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. He was a  tall and buff man, his black hair slicked flat on his head. He had a pair of cruel eyes, like silver daggers and a wicked scar running down his cheek. He was bedecked in an immaculate white suit, the only stain on it was a tiny spot of red on his chest. Blood.

The man straightened his black tie, smiling charmingly. “Ah, Gotham’s Sirens. Good evening. You all look absolutely lovely tonight.”

Catwoman pushed the girl and boy behind her, scowling. “What do you want?” She demanded harshly.

The man blinked, as if shocked by the question. “My children ran away from home,” He said innocently. “I’m simply here to get them to return to me. If you would kindly hand them over,” He cocked his gun, smirking, “There will be no trouble whatsoever.”

“Liar!” The girl screamed, pressing her spine against the wall. She turned her body so she was shielding the toddler she held. “Murderer! Slaughterer! Don’t touch us, I’ll kill you!”

“Slaughterer,” The man mused, chuckling. “What a big word for such a small child. Come on now, dear, let’s go home.”

He stepped forward, but Poison Ivy was standing in front of him, blocking his path. “I don’t think so.” She snarled.

The man chuckled lowly and raised his gun to her face. “I suggest you step aside, Greenie." He purred. “I need those kids dead.”

“Move your gun.” Ivy said calmly. Her eyes flashed.

The low roar of sirens grew louder.

“Why?” The man snorted. “What can you possibly do to me, the most powerful mobster in this part of Go—”

With a sharp crack, the gun was struck from his hand. Catwoman glowered at him, her whip at her side. “She said, move the gun.”

The man’s cocky expression vanished. A dark look overtook his face like a shadow.

There wasn’t much. Just the flick of his wrist and suddenly the other two goons were charging forward, guns in hand. Instantly the three women whipped into action.

Catwoman lashed out with her whip, the end wrapping around one thug’s wrist. She yanked him forward. Then she sent him back again with a well placed kick to the jaw. Harley slammed her bat into the other one’s head, knocking him to the ground. He went utterly still, blood trickling down his hair. He looked dead.

Meanwhile Poison Ivy wound her vines around the mobster in white. She wrapped the vines around his chest, his stomach, and legs. Tighter and tighter until he was clawing at his throat, gagging.

The girl watched with a violent light in her eyes. Usually she was so against people hurting, so intent on people being safe. She never wanted to see anyone choking, or bleeding or even throwing up. But now . . . Now she relished the sight of this man suffocating. The man who had taken her parent’s lives would pay with his life. It was only poetic justice. It brought her a deep satisfaction, and that terrified her.

But still she watched. Yes, she thought, yes kill him!

The wail of police sirens became deafening.

As she watched Ivy choke the murderer, the fourth man slunk up behind her. Just as she turned and reached out to grab her brother's hand and tug him back to the wall, the mobster lunged.

She screamed, and hurled herself to the side to avoid him, but the three year old wasn't so lucky. The thug grabbed the screaming kid by the shirt and hauled him to his chest.

"What you gonna do now, girly?" He taunted, aiming his gun at her. "I got your little brother, don' I? What you gonna do?"

The girl's eyes were wide with horror. She stood stock still, petrified. Her brother wailed, reaching out to her in terror. “Lee!” He sobbed.

The goon laughed cruelly. “Stupid kids. You should’ve let us kill you in your sleep like we planned. Would’a been an easier way to go. Now I guess we gotta kill you kickin’ and screamin’. How about we start with the little brat?” He turned his gun on the little boy, bending to reach him. The girl screamed as realization struck. He was going to shoot her brother.

Everything went so fast, Bailey hardly realized it was happening. First, the girl noticed the length of rusted metal pipe that was thrown onto the crate beside her. Then, she felt a surge of terror and fury and desperation as the gun bumped against her brother’s temple. Without realizing what she was doing, she had grabbed the pipe, and charged the monster.

With a roar, she slammed the pipe into his face. There was a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed across her forehead. The man stumbled, dropping his gun and the boy with a cry. But the nine year old wouldn’t stop. She hammered the pipe down on his head again, and again, screaming and sobbing.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM!” She bellowed, tears streaming down her face, stinging the slice on her cheek. “DON’T EVER TOUCH HIM AGAIN!”

Bone and cartilage crunched over and over as she beat the ever loving life out of him. She kept at it, even after he was unconscious on the ground. It was like someone had uncorked all the emotions she’d had through the night and turned them into a murderous fury. 

“DON’T TOUCH HIM, DON’T TOUCH HIM, DON’T TOUCH HIM !”

Behind her, the three year old boy sobbed, and grabbed the hem of her shirt.

“Girls, the cops!” Harley Quinn shouted, after spitting on her own knocked out mobster.

Catwoman snarled, as she landed a skull-shattering blow to the other goon’s head. He fell at her feet, out cold. “We have to go!”

Ivy glanced at them, then back at the children. Finally, she stared up at the villain she held in her vines. He was limp, his eyes rolling back in his head. With a huff she raised her arms, and the greenery cocooned around him. Behind her, two of the other goons were wrapped up in vines too. When they were all secure, she dropped them, onto the ground. Harshly.

She whirled to the others. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”

With a quick nod, Harley bounced up a few crates and sprung over the wall. The roar of a car engine came from the other side.

Catwoman grabbed the pipe from the child’s hand and threw it aside. “Quit, that. We have to go.” She hissed. “Now.” But then her eyes shifted to the bloody, broken nosed, black eyed man that lay on the ground. She felt shock rise in her chest. This tiny kid had done  _that_?

The girl turned to her, her eyes filled with horrified tears. “Did I kill him?”

Catwoman’s eyes widened. “No. No I don’t think you did, honey. He's just unconscious. It’s okay.”

The disappointed look in the small girl's eyes scared her.

While Poison Ivy’s vines lifted sacks of money over the wall, Catwoman took the children’s hands.

“Come with us,” She said, her eyes gentle behind her goggles. “We can protect you.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, ma’am.” The girl said, wiping her eyes. She was trembling. “I-I’m sure not staying here. I think this counts as assisting in criminal activity, or being an accomplice or something. And assault. ”

Catwoman smiled and lifted the child up in her arms. “You sure know a lot about law breaking for a kid your age.”

“My daddy was a cop.” The girl told her, her tone and her eyes dull and quiet.

Ivy used her vines to lift them over the side and plunk them down inside a pink convertible car.

As Catwoman slipped into the back and buckled the girl and boy up, Ivy took off. They sped down the road to the far reaches of Gotham City, the wind whipping their hair.

For the longest time they rode in silence, the only sound being the buzz of the city. No one spoke. No one acknowledged that most of the blood on the children's faces and shirts was not their own.

When the little boy was nodding off, clutching the vine of some rare plant that Ivy had placed in the back seat, Catwoman turned to the young girl. She gave her a grin, trying to look friendly. “So,” She said, “What’s your name, kid?”

The girl looked up at her, smiling hesitantly. Blood dripped from her cheek to her pajama shirt. “I’m Bailey.”

 


End file.
